A/N: I appreciate the differing points of view expressed in the reviews.

Kurt had offered to have coffee with Rachel before her first day of classes, but she told him she was more than fine. She made herself a latte in her apartment and savored the flavor, looking at the leather backpack sitting on the table next to her. Carole had bought it for Finn when he started college, and offered it to Rachel when she heard she was going back. She loved how it even smelled like him. She decided to dress much like she had before—a close-fitting shirt and short skirt, but with flats for the bus. Her heels were in the small dance bag she had used for Funny Girl. Her hair was different, however- the bangs and straight blunt cut were gone, replaced by the longer, wavier locks she had preferred more recently in Lima. The old cut was a bitter reminder of Los Angeles, even though her inner drama queen wanted to wear it for exactly that reason, a kind of hair shirt driving her to succeed.

On the bus a couple of young men gave her appreciative glances, and, while the attention wasn't exactly unwelcome, it brought on memories of Finn. But at least she could recall Finn now with fondness.

"I'm grieving now, not grief-stricken," she told Kurt once. She smiled in her seat, a polite acknowledgment of the appreciation from the young men, but without encouraging anything more. They seemed to understand, too, turning it into an unexpectedly graceful, civilized moment. She left them with that serene smile as she got off at the NYADA stop.

Rachel didn't pause to take a breath, or stare up at the building, like some prodigal daughter. She simply walked in the door, as if she had never left. Her first class was acting, on the second floor, and she melted into the stream of students headed up the stairs. Nobody seemed to notice her, and she didn't see anyone she recognized at first. At the top of the stairs her phone buzzed. It was a text from Carmen Tibideaux's administrative assistant, the smug bitch that took such pleasure humiliating her in the hall the last time she was here.

She was to report to Tibideaux's office. Now.

But first things first. She went to her classroom and told the instructor who she was, and why she wouldn't be in class. Then she hurried downstairs.

Carmen Tibideaux pretended to be writing and didn't look up when Rachel was ushered into her office by the smirking admin. Rachel stood before her, saying nothing, with little expression, inwardly unimpressed by such a transparently theatrical gesture. She had expected this kind of treatment, imagining that Tibideaux was going to extract her pound of flesh somehow. But no matter. She was in, and hadn't even attended a class yet, so Carmen wouldn't be chewing her out. She probably wanted to remind Rachel just how lucky she was. Or something.

"Ms Berry, sit down," she said, head still down over her papers. Rachel was laying her backpack down by her dance bag when Carmen stopped writing and looked up. Her look was haughty, imperious.

"You will be evaluated more severely than any of the other students in this school, do you understand?"

Of course. That stood to reason. Flame-out or not, Rachel had far more professional experience under her belt than any of the others. It was as if she was a graduate student, rather than a lowly undergrad.

"I understand, Madame Tibideaux." Her tone was coolly deferential. She was done groveling.

Carmen opened a file on her desk, and pulled out a letter—Rachel recognized it as the one she sent thanking Tibideaux for readmitting her.

"Good." Then her demeanor softened. "That's what the Board of Directors wanted me to remind you." Rachel gave her a small, shy smile, wondering what the hell was going on. "You do realize the big Broadway producers have a lot of clout with the Board, right?"

Rachel winced, thinking of Sydney Greene. She shook her head.

"Well, they do. And they were less than pleased at finding out I was readmitting you." She sighed. "They didn't even want to hear my reasons, but, fortunately, the Board respects my judgment—most of the time."

Rachel sat on the edge of her chair, hands clasped around her knees. It was a defensive posture. There was a time when she would have wished Finn, or Kurt, or her dads were there with her. But now she felt empowered to handle what was thrown her way. She thanked Sam and Jesse for having understood just how much she needed to do all of this on her own.

"May I ask what your reasons were, Madame Tibideaux?"

Carmen didn't seem to hear her.

"When this academy was founded in 1936, its overriding purpose was to train and nurture young artists." She paused. "I used to wonder just what 'nurturing' an artist meant. It seemed to me, when I came here twenty years ago, that it meant providing such a rigorous, competitive environment that it turned out performers tough enough to deal with the world of the arts. I thought it meant I had to be hard, because that world was hard. And The Board was happy to go along with that, as long as we fed them graduates who could make them money, and our endowment came to be dependent on the producers of the shows." She looked as if she had just tasted something bitter. Then she waved Rachel's letter. "You showed me just how wrong I was."

"I—I did?" Rachel gulped.

'Yes, you did." Carmen looked down at the letter. "I've called myself an educator all of this time, but I've never considered myself much of a mentor." She looked up at Rachel. "You needed a mentor. I prided myself on recognizing what a talent you have. I even understood how you had to go for the part of Fanny Brice. But we—I- failed you."

Rachel sat silently, fascinated.

"You were leading a major Broadway show at the age of eighteen. We could have been more flexible and worked out a schedule that was less demanding. You had just lost a loved one. It wouldn't have killed me to have been more compassionate."

Rachel wasn't prepared for what Carmen said next.

"And we gave you no choice but to leave, which left you at the mercy of that moron Lee Paulblatt. We were aware of how he betrayed your male lead in Funny Girl, you know. We could have warned you, but by that time you had no reason to trust us for any kind of advice."

"I'm not sure you could have talked me out of the TV show, Madame Tibideaux." Rachel had to admit that.

"I watched the show." Carmen actually smiled. Rachel blushed deeply, embarrassed beyond measure. "I remember wondering why you weren't given any songs—the show was supposed to be based on your life, wasn't it?"

Rachel nodded, miserably.

"They cut all of them out," she said.

"Paulblatt is a Philistine. And he left you shouldering almost all of the blame. He already has a job with Fox, did you know that? He risked nothing, and almost ruined you in the process."

"Almost?" Rachel let out a bitter laugh.

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Do you think Sydney Greene cares if I'm at NYADA or not?" She couldn't get the image of him threatening her in his office out of her mind. It haunted her nightmares, even if he did begrudgingly take Paulblatt's check to get her out of her contract.

"He was one of the first people on the phone after the Board approved my decision to let you back." Carmen snorted. "He said he was trying to warn me about you."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him he could have done a better job preventing parasites like Paulblatt from poaching his talent."

"What?" Rachel was shocked. Carmen shrugged.

"He knew you weren't represented well. And Paulblatt is known for sniffing around Broadway stars' dressing rooms. Sydney knew you were only eighteen and vulnerable. And he had a star in his pocket he knew could take your place." That would have been the veteran Talia Gillerman. Who didn't get a Tony for playing Fanny, Rachel reminded herself.

"He's a tough old bird," Carmen said. "When you graduate, he won't let hurt feelings get in the way of making money, if you prove good for a part in anything he produces."

Rachel sighed in relief.

"However, that doesn't mean you should be auditioning for him anytime in the near future. In fact," Carmen regained her imperious tone, "I will not sign off on any outside auditions by you while you're a student here."

"Of course not, Madame Tibideaux, I understand." Rachel paused, then asked, her voice soft and hopeful, "Will I be eligible for consideration for showcases?"

"That's the right of every NYADA student, Ms. Berry. Now get to class."

And as she turned to leave, her heart leaped with hope when Carmen said, "Make me proud of my decision."

She felt all of her fellow student's eyes on her when she returned to the classroom. The professor's name was Roy Jenkins, an actual Tony winner when he was younger. He looked at his roll sheet again.

"We had introductions while you were in with Madame Tibideaux." He smiled, and Rachel winced inside, as he said, "Class, this is Rachel Berry, a returning sophomore . There were a lot of nods; most recognized the name. She had won a Winter showcase as a freshman, after all. One boy snickered, getting a withering look of disapproval from Jenkins. "Everyone was asked to tell the class what kind of experience they had. Please give us a brief summary." He didn't appear to be deliberately cruel, just determined to treat her like anyone else.

Rachel gave them a small smile.

"I'm Rachel Berry, from Lima, Ohio. When I was in high school I played the role of Maria in a production of West Side Story. Our show choir, the New Directions, won the National title my senior year. I was Fanny Brice in the Broadway production of Funny Girl..." That caused a buzz and some additional snickers,but she didn't care, and actually grinned, "...but I left the show early and went to Hollywood, where I managed to star in the worst television series in history." Some good-natured laughs now. Rachel bet most of the kids here feared the kind of failure she had actually experienced. "So if you want some advice on what kinds of decisions not to make, I'm your girl."

After class, Jenkins asked her to remain behind.

"That took some guts," he said. Rachel shrugged.

"I knew I was in for some embarrassment. But believe me, that's nothing compared to the shock of getting fired like that, realizing you have burned all your bridges, then having to grovel for a second chance." She sighed. "I don't plan on throwing that chance away, and if it means getting my past decisions rubbed in my face for a while, so be it."

Jenkins nodded. "Come by my office this afternoon, so we can discuss how you will be evaluated. I'll give you my expectations, and what it will take on your part to meet them." He paused for a second, looking down. " There are some faculty who think you never deserved readmission." Rachel nodded, grimly. "I'm not one of them. But we as a whole are committed to helping you succeed, regardless."

She dropped her dance bag off in her locker for use in the afternoon dance class, and headed to the student lounge for the hour before her singing lesson. The unexpectedly positive experiences this morning hadn't quite defused her defensive mode, and she needed a comfortable chair and a cup of coffee to relax. Reaching into the backpack for her thermos, she caught a brief whiff of Finn's scent, and closed her eyes to enjoy it.

"I like to sit here and drink a cup of coffee before my next class," she said. Finn sat next to her and looked around.

"They actually have a latte machine here?" He wrinkled his nose. She knew he had tried coffee in the army and hated it.

"Of course. They even have Cool Ranch Doritos in the vending machines, just for you," she joked, and loved how the smile grew on his face. She knew he felt overwhelmed, and ashamed, and she wanted so much for them to be together again. Surely Carmen could see how talented Finn was, and let him in to NYADA. She had to.

"Can you see us, Finn, dancing and singing together again?" She pressed her head into his shoulder, attempting to instill self-confidence in him through her indomitable will.

"I'm trying," he said. But she could feel him slipping away from her, even then.

Her eyes opened. She was alone. Part of her wanted to go home and lie down. She felt like Sisyphus at the bottom of the mountain again, and the thought of having to roll the boulder up that slope yet one more time without him, filled her with the old familiar fatigue of despair which she thought she had left behind.

She whispered a fervent prayer, wishing he could come back to her, if only for a moment, to let her know she still had meaning in a post-Finn world.